which heíd picked up during his stint in Manarina. Earnest, meanwhile, had been given a shield of polished

ebon, befitting a brooding "black knight." It went off quite nicely with the large scar on his face, the remnant of his wounds that even Lowe and Khris working with Gong in unison could not entirely erase.

Next, came the priesthood. The Abbot himself performed the ceremonies, elevating Lowe and Khris within

the ranks of the priesthood, draping the robes of a Vicar upon each of them. "With your new rank comes

new power, and new responsibility. Never flag in your devotions, to your flock or to your Lord," intoned

the Abbot. Repeatedly.

Gort and Luke were titled as Gladiators, an ancient term referring to professional warriors who fought in

arenas, a description alluding to the pairís penchant for fistfights and brawling. And so on, down the line.

But it was Max who faced the most uncomfortable title of all. As he knelt in homage to his liege, who stood

before him in robes suited for both wizard and queen, of soft black velvet, and dubbed him, "Hero."

Great. Now sheíll be calling me, "My Hero" every chance she gets. "Now, my Hero," called Anri, as she

bade him stand, "let us retire to the feasting hall." See what I mean?

And so the entire Shining Force traveled to the feasting halls of the castle, and the meal began in earnest.

When due service had been paid to several roasted seabats and assorted delicacies, Gort raised up a tankard

of ale. "To the Shining Force!"

"To the Shining Force!" and all assembled drank to that.

"To Max, our Commander!" and the mugs were raised to cries of "To Max!" and drained again.

"To Anri, long live the Queen!"

"To Pelle!" "To Ken!" "To Mae..." Things all became very blurry after that...

Why are we laying in hay? Max sat up. He then fell back down, clutching his head and moaning piteously,

as he tried to take stock of his surroundings. A centaurís chambers. Obviously not used in some time. The

curios and personal items were that of a young femaleís. Huh?

Maeís gonna KILL me if she finds me in her room!

Too late. And Mae stepped into the room, then looked down at Max with an expression his befuddled mind

could not immediately discern. Then, surprising him, she handed him a large mug of water. "Drink this. It

will help the dehydration." Max sipped slowly, letting the water rehydrate him and ease the headache and

sore throat. As he did so, Mae lay down next to him, and wrapped her arms around him lovingly, laying her

head on his shoulder.

Wait a minute. Since when does she... Max sniffed, getting a good whiff of what odors remained of last

night. Beyond the scent of stale sweat and such as one might expect of people recovering from a hangover,

there was something...else. Mae lifted up her head, tilting it towards him for a kiss.

Oh, my.

*****************************************End of Part 4*************************************

Authorís note: Howís that for a cliffhanger?

The asterisk- thatís this guy here, *, denotes a term not many may be familiar with. It was coined by Marc

"Animal" Macyoung, a professional security specialist who writes books on self defense, not so much how

to win in hostile situations, as how to avoid or escape from them. In his excellent text on "Street Etiquette,"

Mr. Macyoung describes a group called "Untouchables," people who, before you can fight them, you must

literally fight everyone else in the room. He divided them into four groups, Musicians, Healers,

Priests/Magicians, and Leaders. The first three I doubt I need to explain(can you imagine punching a priest

of...ANY religion, in the face?). But leaders come in two kinds. Thereís the kind assigned to you by fate,

luck, or the Power That Be(PTB). If someone attacks him, his subordinates will stand up to help him fight.

But an "untouchable" leader, on the other hand, will never get a chance to fight, because his fanatically

loyal team will have taken care of it first. Marc describes a particularly poignant example, where a soldier

threatening the life of pilot of a gunship crew suddenly found himself standing in the open door of his own

gunship, staring straight at the gunner of said pilotís gunship, who promptly aimed his mounted machine

gun at his erstwhile comrade and blew him away. Marc stated that this was perfectly understandable, and

that when the soldier, who was known to be a killer, had threatened the pilot, whose comrades knew they

could trust with their lives, he had literally signed his own death warrant. His work makes for some truly

FASCINATING reading. Iíve yet to read a word heís written I could truly disagree with, save for the word,

"four."(I think a fifth should be added, "Mascot." Thatís the kid brother that everyone looks out for.)

Command Presence? People who are accustomed to command have a way of carrying themselves, an

"aura", if you will, that makes their subordinates more likely to obey them. Itís a variation on the "self-

confident" walk that self defense experts advise one to comport oneself with. Unfortunately, you canít just

choose to walk that way, you have to actually build up your confidence in yourself and your abilities. Thatís

why no half hour seminar can compare with several years of martial training under a competent instructor.

You donít just learn how to punch and kick, you attain the confidence and subtle mentle training needed to

avoid a fight to begin with. Do you really think real martial artists get into fights constantly as portrayed on

TV? I mean, after all, just look at how these guys portray "competent" gun fighters, guys with bad attitudes,

violating every rule of gun safety with weapons that never run out of ammo or jam unless absolutely

convienient.

I chose to make Domingoís relationship with Max be that of foster parent/big brother, since after all, Max

DID hatch him out. I rather did wonder about a new hatchling being sent straight into battle. The creature,

of course, being not only inhuman, but nonhumanoid, has difficulty with the generally accepted social

mores that bind together their truly "multiracial" society. In the next chapter, Max will take some flak over

that. Youíll note the lunch meeting with Elliot, where Max and the General are able to share a meal, despite

the fact that Maxí meat was as repulsive to the General as worms were to Max. Itís all about courtesy,

etiquette. Max would have been fully prepared to choke down a worm for the sake of politeness, save that

Elliot ordered a preferable luncheon platter out of a similar sense of courtesy. Remember that word. Itís the

lubricant that allows our society to function. Itís not about how many forks go on the left or how many

fingers you use to gently grasp the stem of the wineglass. Itís showing consideration for those around you,

and without it...

Dave Seville, of Chipminks fame, was a real person, a musician in fact, who siezed upon the idea of

distorting his own voice, then making it appear that a bunch of hand puppets were doing his singing for him, with a slapstick comedy routine. In his first appearance on TV, he "barely" manages to stop Alvin from

braining the host with a large wooden mallet, as TV audiences for the first time heard the panicked scream, "Aaaalllviiiiinn!" Followed by Daveís own written song, "Witchdocter." And with Jogurt, I just couldnít resist the urge to have him be a Chipmunk.

A note on Religion. If I offend, please take it in stride. If you are Atheist, Iím reform Jew. That means Iím

Jewish, but Iím not obsessed with my culture, nor do I claim that history began and ended with the

holocaust, which excuses any misdeeds that the State of Israel might choose to make, purely in the interests of defending itself against the Muslim threat(proactively), of course... If youíre religious, I believe God has

a sense of humor, and we are his punch lines. So try to laugh, and please donít point out any errors in the SF

storylineís Church, which is nonsectarian, uninterested in missionary work, and whose priests are "cash for